Perfect Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance Read online

  After everything I’ve already put her through, I’m not going to squabble over three hundred bucks.

  She turns the notes back to the first page and takes out her phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  She shrugs, her lashes fluttering softly. “You said you were going to close some deals and we’d be here for a while. I might as well make good use of the time.”

  “You’re not writing the whole thing on a phone. The computers in the hotel business center make it easier and more accurate.”

  “The business center costs like twenty dollars. That’s stupid. I already pay for my phone. I’m savvy, not greedy, and I’m not charging up the company card for it either.”

  I force down a smile.

  If she doesn’t have a company card on her she’ll use, I do. I won’t make her pay for the business center out of her own pocket. Still, how can I resist goading her?

  “You’d still have a net profit of two hundred and eighty dollars,” I point out.

  She looks stricken. “Wow, really? I took a few business classes too. This way I have a net profit of three hundred dollars.”

  My brows arch up. I didn’t know she had any college.

  “Use your company card,” I order.

  Halle looks at me like I’m a mammoth idiot. “Why would I waste the company’s money if I’m not willing to waste my own?”

  I’m not sure I’ve ever had an employee this loyal. I open my wallet and hand her a personal credit card. “Here. It’s mine. You’re only wasting my money, and believe me, I’ve got twenty bucks to spare.”

  She glares.

  Not the reaction I expected.

  Fuck, is there any pleasing this girl?

  “You’re such a snob sometimes,” she spits.

  It’s hopeless. I can’t hold the laughter anymore. “What? Because I offered to pay for you to use a real computer to type notes I’ll use?”

  “No. Because who pays twenty freaking dollars to use a computer when you already pay for like a thousand laptops?”

  “Billionaires. It’s part of the job description. We have more than we can use, so we have to spend it to keep the economy going,” I quip. “Also, in case you hadn’t noticed, I didn’t bring any of those laptops with.”

  “Snob,” she says with a groan.

  “Swipe your fingers to death then. You can keep the card in case you change your mind when your hands cramp up and you’re trying not to drop the damn phone reading off that notepad,” I grind out.

  Our eyes meet like stormfronts. She doesn’t look away, just purses those heart-shaped lips as she slowly opens her mouth to eject some fresh brimstone.

  “You know what?” she asks softly.

  “What?”

  She picks up the card and holds it up to me. “Keep the card and give me the extra twenty dollars.”

  “What?”

  She shrugs. “You’re a billionaire. It’s your job to spend money, and you would have paid twenty dollars for an hour on the machine.”

  “Fine, three twenty. Deal. Now, I’m getting drinks,” I say, amused by her obstinance even if I don’t let her see it.

  Marching her in here was the best decision I’ve made all day. I’ve never had this much fun at a conference.

  I go to the bar, buy a shot of brandy, and seal a collaboration with another firm in no time. I also set up a meeting with an ad firm looking for a new office design. Then I hit the bar again for a second shot, plus Reese’s soda.

  When I return to our table, she’s sitting there holding her phone like a nineties kid with a Gameboy, working the keyboard with both thumbs.

  I flop down beside her, holding out my hand.

  “Here’s your drink. Well earned, Miss Halle,” I say, passing the Dr. Pepper over.

  She doesn’t say anything for a minute. Her thumbs keep moving and her eyes don’t leave her phone, then she sets the phone on the table and smiles at me, sweet as pie.

  “All done. Pay up.”

  Smirking, I pull out my phone. “What’s your Venmo?”

  “My cell number.”

  I send the payment and leave a twenty-five percent tip.

  “Sent,” I snap off.

  Her phone dings a second later and she holds it up.

  That bratty mouth falls open in a soft gasp before she catches herself. Not fast enough to stop the blood rushing to my cock.

  “Oh, I—I see you’re a decent tipper. Who knew? Thanks, boss.”

  “My pleasure.” I mean that too literally, clearing my throat as I say, “Thank you for playing secretary today.”

  Those blue eyes roll in her head like marbles.

  “Don’t expect it to happen again. This is a one-time deal, and you and Ward need a real EA. Did you close your deals?”

  “One. I set up a meeting to close the other.” I hold my glass up, offering a salute I doubt she’ll take.

  She pops the top on her soda and holds it up, clinking her can against my glass.

  So maybe she doesn’t have a voodoo doll who looks just like me waiting at home.

  She’s also right. This isn’t a normal CEO outing with his driver.

  Then again, Reese Halle isn’t the usual stuffy old chauffeur who’s often actually male.

  I’m not the average partner, either, and this combination could be lethal.

  We’ve kindled more sparks today than any boss and their driver should, but I push the thought away.

  “So, you said I should hire someone. Are you sure I shouldn’t just promote someone?” I ask.

  Okay, fuck, maybe I haven’t completely pushed the thought away.

  I want her around the office more.

  I want her desk just a few feet away, where I can stop at it for meaningless chitchat whenever I damn well please.

  I want her to banter me into a smoking crater.

  I want that impossible kiss, that fuck hot, irresistible drink of this woman.

  I even want the flaming bag of crap guaranteed to rain down on my head the second after a kiss that devastating ever happens.

  Luckily for her, I’m not a complete maniac.

  Let’s focus on the positive, the realistic. With no training and no experience, she’s done an excellent job here today and even managed to send the notes in record time.

  “You won’t be promoting me. Being chained down in an office just isn’t right for me,” she tells me.

  “You could handle it, if you want it enough.” I veer my gaze at the notebook she’s worked in all day.

  “Yeah, I probably could, but I’d despise every minute. I hate desk jobs with the heat of a thousand suns,” she says, shaking a fist for emphasis.

  “Are you going to spend your whole career on the road then?” I ask, suppressing a smile.

  “Honestly, who cares?” she whispers more to herself than me, stands, and pushes her chair back in. “Are you about ready to go? I promised my niece I’d be over for dinner.”

  Weird, but I won’t press her if she genuinely hates this crap. I follow her out of the ballroom.

  “Are you going to answer my question?”

  She looks at me and does a double take.

  “You really want to know? Sure. I plan on dealing with everything on four wheels until I’m too old to be useful. I don’t know. I’ve heard older drivers say you get back problems from sitting so long. I may have to quit one day, or go for a cushier position, but until then? I’ll drive and pray self-driving cars never become a thing for the next forty years. It’s what I do.”

  Good answer.

  “People with office jobs need chiropractors, too. That’s why any employee who ever puts in a request for a standing desk gets one at Brandt Ideas. I suppose there’s no way around the butt-in-chair part when you’re a driver, though. Are you sure you don’t want to try out something else? You could be doing your health a favor.”

  Her face tightens, deep in thought, and of course my eyes get stuck to those ripe strawberry-pink lips.

&nb
sp; “When I was younger, I wanted to be a truck driver. No lie, I wanted it so much I was ready to skip college to get my commercial license and hit the road,” she says slowly.

  “You, behind an eighteen-wheel rig?” I know I’m about to get shit for saying it again, but it just falls out. I’m that surprised.

  Fortunately, she just glares and then shakes her head and continues.

  “It didn’t turn out that way. I decided to hit the books and got my start in passenger driving. Somewhere along the way, I decided I didn’t want to be on the road for long stretches or wind up sleeping in a different parking lot every night. But one thing stayed the same—driving destresses me. I like chauffeuring because I meet new people, new challenges, and every day’s a new experience. I even liked driving weddings and parties for my old place despite the sucky pay. If I’m taking people around for huge life events, then I’m part of their excitement.”

  I’m still floored, trying to picture this shortstack woman as a truck driver. One thing’s for sure, she’s got the grit for it.

  “Tell me one thing. What caused this obsession with being behind the wheel?” I ask.

  “...I don’t know. I always liked cars. The day I turned sixteen, I pooled money with my sister, Abby. We bought a clunker to share using every dime we could scrape together. I took the driving test and had my license the same day. Soon enough, I was spending too much on gas, so that summer I applied for a job as a delivery driver for this bakery. A couple years later, that led me to a law firm courier gig where I got paid by the mile. When I figured out I could get paid by mileage, I started looking into full time gigs. Freight seemed like a natural fit until I started to realize how much I’d be away from my family, always at the mercy of the road. With you—with Brandt Ideas, I mean—I’m always in town if my sister needs me.”

  “Good. So, we’ll never have to hire a new driver?”

  “If you play your cards right, not anytime soon.” She gives me this smile that’s too fucking adorable for life.

  We’re out of the hotel now, and the valet brings the sleek black Lincoln around. Reese walks to the back passenger side door and grabs the handle.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper slowly, my brow pulling down.

  For a second, I stand there, perplexed. She hasn’t done this for me since her first week on the job, and even when I thought she was Batman-Halle, I told her to knock it off.

  “Opening the door for you,” she says, blinking. “What does it look like?”

  I place my hand flat against the door. “Don’t ever open this door for me again. You’re my driver, not my butler.”

  “But it’s my job.” Pale-blue eyes framed by long dark lashes stare up at me in surprise.

  “Consider it more of my casual sexism,” I quip, unsmiling. “Or maybe I just fucking loathe being waited on hand and foot.”

  Her eyes soften. Her chin tilts up as she shrugs. I don’t think she wants me to see the warmth in her smile, but I do.

  “You’re the boss,” she murmurs.

  Goddamn this woman.

  I’m lost in her warm eyes for God only knows how long.

  Again, my gaze mutinies, landing on her lips. I stare until my mouth aches for her like someone sprinkled ghost pepper flakes on my lips.

  Then I pinch myself through my pocket, severing the trance.

  Miss Halle jerks her head down and darts around the car so fast I know she felt it, too.

  She was caught in the moment, that weird forbidden spark between us, lashing out to ignite if we’d only give insanity a chance.

  Careful, you idiot, a sardonic voice growls in the back of my mind.

  She’s already in the driver’s seat when I slide in the car.

  What were we talking about before my brain got stuck on wanting to devour her? I need to make this normal.

  I’ve already fucked up enough of her short tenure with us.

  “So, you’re here for life?” I ask again, knowing I’m repeating myself.

  “I don’t know about forever,” she says after a long pause. “Eventually, if it’s ever in the cards, I want my own luxury limo service. I’ve been working as a driver for years and networked my butt off everywhere I’ve been. I have a lot of ideas. I think I could elevate the luxury ride experience, and make it as special and relaxing for my clients as it is for me.”

  Ambitious and surprising. I’m genuinely impressed.

  “Tell me a few of your ideas,” I say, meeting her eyes intently in the mirror.

  “Well, for one, I think a lot of ride services focus on little things like snacks and drinks. But what if the experience went beyond that? Think reclining chairs and hot towels and pull-out screens similar to a first class airline ticket? Most limo services also focus on big events or regular whale clients who’ll use them all the time—people like you and your family—but I think there’s an untapped segment of the population who’d enjoy the luxury experience without needing it on a daily basis.”

  “Doesn’t that fall under weddings and proms? You already do that,” I say.

  “Not quite. If you think about the limo at a wedding, it’s still there for transportation first, and usually for large parties. They’re booked when there are just too many people to fit in a typical sedan or when the bride and groom want to ride in style. People will pay for several hours to keep an empty limo standing by just to have it for the half hour they actually use it. But I think if the ride was the experience, or at least a key part...then you could reach a totally new clientele. Business class is awesome. Sure, recurring clients will always be the backbone of this biz, but a six-hundred-dollar day trip for a family of four isn’t bad either. Plus, there are months and nasty situations where business travel nosedives.”

  I hide my smile behind my hand, pretending to scratch my cheek. She’s really thought this out. Unfortunately, it makes her that much more enticing.

  I hate the heat in my blood that flares and won’t go away now that I know Reese Halle has one hell of a brain to match her beauty.

  “How would you make the ride the experience?” I ask, desperately hoping she’ll slip and say something stupid.

  “By hiring drivers who accommodate all the usual services, but also act as guides on request. Whether that’s telling folks about the history of Lake Michigan or shuttling them around to the best Polish delis in Chicago. People might like a ride and a story.”

  A chuckle rips out of me.

  “What’s so funny?” she snaps, her eyes narrowing with worry.

  “I can’t believe you’re finally talking to me like a normal human being. Are we past you shutting me out?” I ask, pushing my luck, almost hoping she’ll go cold so I won’t be so damnably hot.

  She lifts her head up enough to flash a smile in the mirror.

  “Like I said...you never gave me a chance to talk before. I think today might be the first time you’ve asked me anything that needed more than a one-syllable answer—or doesn’t involve shoving some weird gift down my throat.”

  Touché.

  The way my gut clenches tells me she’s right. Fuck. Maybe I am a swinging dick.

  “To be fair, you rarely ask me anything either,” I grumble, looking to save face.

  “Mr. Brandt, if a businessman has to be asked, he usually doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  I smile. “You do know your market.”

  She goes quiet then, those shimmering blue eyes studying me in the mirror.

  Meeting her gaze, I clear my throat. “You know you can’t freeze me out again, right?”

  “I didn’t know I ever froze you out. That’s a little harsh,” she says shyly.

  “No matter how hard I tried, you wouldn’t give me the time of day. Now that you know we can talk, you can’t just sit in the front seat and ignore me, Halle.”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “Miss Halle? I hope it’s better now that you know I’m a scandal-stomping ogre, but basically harmless.”

  I hold
my breath.

  “Ehhh. I don’t know about scandal stomping or harmless. That lady at the convention seemed to think you wanted something scandalous.” There’s a cautious edge in her voice.

  I snort loudly. “Who? The blonde? She was annoying as hell, trying to corner me. As if I didn’t know who the fuck she—”

  “I Snapchatted it to my sister,” she cuts in. A second later, she looks like she wants to slap a hand across her face. “Um, sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I just...it was an odd scene. You looked so pissed.”

  Interesting.

  “You did, huh? And why would you violate your boss’ privacy like that?”

  I know, I’m a bastard.

  Even so, I’m having too much fun when her eyes pop open.

  “I apologize, okay? It won’t happen again. Abby, she just...she’s a sucker for the gossip blogs and you’re pretty famous. I think you’re the best-known Brandt, and the one most people like.”

  Way to stroke my ego. I turn over her words, giving a slight nod to let her know I won’t flay her alive like Ward would if he were in my place.

  “You didn’t really Snap me, did you? It’s unlike you,” I tease.

  “...you’ll never know,” she says with a nervous giggle.

  Another big mistake, pushing her like this.

  The playful taunting in her voice drives me crazy in all the wrong ways. If she weren’t an employee, I’d be hearing that laugh after hours. I’d convince her she needs a drink tonight, followed by a nightcap of my infamous charm, sans every scrap of clothing hiding her sweetness.

  “I’ve enjoyed your company today,” I say.

  She’s quiet for a moment before she says, “Likewise, Mr. Brandt.”

  At first, I think it’s all she’s going to say.

  Then she clears her throat. “I know a lot more about you after today too...”

  “Like?”

  “Like you’re more than just a billionaire bad boy who makes a lot of headlines. You’re not so bad, I guess. Behind the hot rake cut—”

  “Hold up, Halle. Did you say ‘rake’ cut?”

  She giggles, redness splashed across her cheeks.

  “My bad. Abby made me binge-watch Downton Abbey. Point is, I know you’re not what they say you are now. Behind the muscle, the good looks, and work hard, play hard attitude...there’s a sharp mind and a beating heart. Honestly, I wasn’t sure at first, but now...it’s nice knowing the real you, bossman.”